"Forever," He Said

The bitterest truth is better than the sweetest lie

Michael Stuhlbarg

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Jonathan worried. The anxiousness bubbled in the depth of his stomach, a nagging requiem dominated his mind. He thought about his actions and words, finding them inadequate. Festering guilt rendered his mind ineffective. It was harder to breathe. A glossy sheen coated his eyes a tension building behind them. He looked down at the naked woman draped across his chest, he never knew what compelled him to cheat. What compelled him to abandon the only person who loved him despite his difficult nature. Yet, he did. Over and over again. There were many moments where the guilt of his action was too suffocating to bare. A heavy burden on his conscience but he brushed aside the bitter realities.

He ignored her constant calls out of bitter spite, he was still vexed even though he had no reason to be. So when his phone rang for the umpteenth time he ignored it despite the odd anxious twisting of his heart. The blond against his chest steered and squirmed when the ringing did not falter or cease. So he reached over grabbing his phone to switch it off but once his eyes lay on the caller number he furrowed his brows in confusion. His stomach twisting all the more. Her name did not pop up as he expected, rather it was an unknown number.

He pushed Samantha off of him as he put the cold phone against his ear. His mind rung with anticipation and dread. He knew something was awry, from the way his skin stood on end and the sweat seeped out of his pores. Nothing in all his 31 years of existence could've prepared him for the words that were spoken to him through the soft speakers of the phone. Nothing.

"Mr. Lewando? Yes, this is St. Julius' hospital. We have a female body for you to identify. The body is presumed to be Diana Linkings" The strangers' words were spoken with a rectifying calmness, a sympathetic softness.

The ringing in Jonathan's head intensified as he swayed on his feet. He grabbed hold of the wall and leaned against it, bile bubbling in the back his throat. He denied those words, or at least he tried his hardest. My Anna, it can't be. He prayed, clutching his chest. Denial still clinging to him like a mother to her child.

But he had no right to feel that way, not when he was laying with another

woman.

He felt the need to move, almost without end. If his limbs were moving the anxiety was gone, or at least he could ignore it for a while. He drove as if the devil was chasing him, and perhaps he was. The stain of sin is unwashable. Forever constant, chained to a demon that will be sure to follow.

He was dodging cars as if on a racetrack. Everything was a distant blur, a haze of tears and fog. The sky was starless, moonless, windless as if everything was waiting in anticipation for what's to come. Even the clocks seemed to stop their chiming.

And all too soon, he stood in front of her alabaster face. He gazed down at his dead lover in nothing but her skin, a think fabric draped across her body. Her hazel eyes were shut, her soul no longer resting in them. Her lips pale, a soft blue hue veiling them in coldness. Her hair lay listless and dull.

Jonathan's body shook unnaturally, his tears were plenty yet they were no match for the ones she had shed for him. His breaths lodged themselves in his throat as he began to choke on his sobs.

Diana, no please, Anna come back. He hiccuped out through broken cries. There was a comforting hand on his shoulder which gave a gentle squeeze. But at that moment he failed to feel it, failed to feel anything. He reached for her cold thin hand, caressing it in his. It only donned on him how thin she looked, how neglected as he broke in another fit of sobs. He could not bring himself to ask how she died but he somehow knew she died alone.

The calls she had made for him. He regrets not answering, not hearing her voice but one last time even as a whisper. Those emotions seemed too intense for him to bare as he collapsed on the cold floor, consumed by darkness as his vision turned to ash.

In the confines of a stuffy cell, those emotions were no stranger to a man who lost his daughter. He held on to the handwritten note with intensity, gently caressing the words with his thumb. She had written those words for him, she had told him of her sickness and he could not believe, but when news of her death reached him, it was far too late to mend their broken relationship. Perhaps caressing her written words will be the only piece of her left to him.

Mere words on paper, so powerful they bring a man to his knees in agony.

And indeed, once Jonathan read the words she had left for him on the kitchen counter he was on his knees wailing, begging for a swift death to take him away and take away the agony and guilt. There was nothing worse than guilt and regret. They follow to the grave. There is no cure for such emotion, no escape.

Decided to write this since so many asked for it! :) Thank you to whoever read this far. I hoped you enjoyed this little book of mine despite it being dramatically heartbreaking. It would mean a great deal if you voted and shared :D